


The Open Wound

by LittleShopOfNina



Series: The Cold Mud [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleShopOfNina/pseuds/LittleShopOfNina
Summary: A light Dwake fluff; eventual elaboration on backstories.





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight was like any other night. The air was thin. The moon cast a layer of thin fog. The wind bit at any exposed skin. But most notably, a campfire was lit for the four bodies sitting around it. Four bodies from four very different backgrounds, brought together by one common -and constant- threat. Death. These four were slowly beginning to call themselves friends, as every minute of their days and nights were now being spent together. 

 

Meg and Claudette were half of the group, and had personalities that seamlessly fit together. Meg was adept physically, and had the endurance and speed of a rabbit. She was young, and in the height of a chase by one of the many threats nipping at their ankles, she always chose to fight. The young woman was of average height and built like an Olympian, and carried herself with a tomboyish confidence. In the fields of a trial, Meg was ready. She was eager. The athlete channeled her grace and agility to weave through any terrain. No ironworks, corn mazes, or hospital challenged the redhead. This often left her confidence to spill over into cockiness, but Meg always had a way of staying safe. She was an expert at evasion, easily able to weave between obstacles like a duck in water. It was rare for the determined jock to be in any physical danger. Meg constantly surprised her three peers with her agility and competitiveness. She didn’t challenge her peers, but those who dare threaten them. Should one be in harm’s way, Meg was the first person to throw herself on the line and draw attention, or take a hit to usher them to safety. She would be fine, she knew that. It was the other three that came first. Meg’s dishwater-colored eyes were almost always narrowed with determination, lips wet with eagerness. Her fiery orange hair was synonymous with aggressive and disciplined sport, and was reminder to push through any exhaustion. 

 

Contrastly, Claudette was not physically adept. She had what Meg lacked; academic empathy. Claudette was a timid scholar, a fragile and clever bookworm. She wore a pair of blue glasses similar to a pair of lab goggles, and she constantly had to adjust them up her nose. The young woman was very chic, sacrificing fashion for camouflage in some instances. Her flamboyant fashion sense was a surprising contrast to her quiet personality. She often wore hot pink or electric white coats with equally colorful scarves, but because of this had had a few too many unfortunate run-ins with the rusty side of a hatchet. Such events had led her to wear a more earth toned button-down that hugged her narrow frame subtly. Her black dreadlocks were always pulled into a neat ponytail to allow her a full field of vision that made her a great asset to her friends. Claudette was the most generous and quiet of the group-- the “mother-hen” she supposed. In a trial, Claudette’s first instinct was to get to work, but kept her ears open for the first signs of danger. Where Meg took this as an opportunity to run a race, Claudette sat behind in the sidelines to watch how things played out; studying every movement to best predict the next one. Rather than intervening a situation and risking her own safety, Claudette followed behind in the shadows, ready to go for a stealthy save or play nurse to whatever wounds were acquired. Nine times out of ten it was to patch up her cocky -she liked to say airheaded- friend Meg, who would be wounded, patched up, and ran back out to entertain the danger. All Claudette could do was laugh to herself. She had been there once. Granted, she was about ten years younger, but her maturity is what set her aside from her peers. 

 

The latter half of the group were Dwight and Jake. If one thought Meg and Claudette were opposites, Dwight and Jake were another story. They were the two unlikely friends of the group, most figuring they would gravitate away from, rather than to, each other. The two were always seen together and rarely ever apart. Something about their differing personalities allowed them to form an intense bond that connected them on deeper than an emotional level. Dwight was bookwormish and nerdy like Claudette, and Jake was a renegade like Meg, but somehow had their own standalone personality.

 

Jake was a recluse. Aside from Dwight, no one knew much about Jake; he was somewhat of an enigma. With a head of soot-colored hair, Jake was the tallest of the group and most cat-like. His expression was regularly narrowed and mistaken as uninterested, but he was almost always miles away. Off in his own world. He was roughly the same age as his peers but had a full and bushy unkempt beard that aged him. Coming from a rich and wealthy home like he did, Jake looked like a vagabond! His hair hadn’t been combed in lord knew how long, and it stuck out every direction. His facial hair was just as dark and unkempt, hiding his neck alongside the frayed scarf he wore. A dark green hiking hoodie completed his look, with basic brown cargo pants. All-in-all, Jake looked like the kind of guy to enjoy hiking and camping in his spare time, which wasn’t really the case. Jake was the lone-wolf of the team, often opting to “do his own thing” as most put it. While the other three repaired generators to power the exit gates, Jake was nowhere to be found. The man lived in the tall grasses, looking like a tree with his bushy hair and lanky frame. It wasn’t that Jake was lazy, or even a procrastinator. Jake was a regular saboteur. Where he lacked the mechanical and medical knowledge of his friends, Jake was a backstage demolition man. Traps, appliances, and meathooks were no match for the hermit, as he knew where every screw was and just how to break it beyond the point of repair. In this way he often bought time for his friends. While his friends got to work on restoring power, Jake ran reconnaissance missions to find and eliminate potential threats like beartraps and meathooks. Should he be found and injured, the man of so few words had this incredible way to channel his pain to another dimension. His peers called it zen, but it was his hard iron will. 

 

The final man was Dwight. Dwight served as the backbone of the team, inspiring the other three to perform at their absolute best at all times. A natural born leader, Dwight was an awkward and geeky guy with a heart of gold. He wore big square glasses and had messy hair similar to Jake's, but it was much shorter and thinner. On his right wrist was a simple black watch that was only ever right twice a day. It was in need of a new battery, but those weren’t things just found in the trees. Dwight’s short-sleeved collared shirt was also in need of a wash, but no matter what he did, it always stayed tucked into his black slacks and his tie stayed tied. In his life prior to the events currently tangling them, Dwight was the manager of a low-budget pizzeria. Dwight used mottos to keep his employees mentally healthy, his favorite being “There is no ‘I’ in ‘Team’.” Dwight’s heart of gold lead him to constantly remind his friends with taglines like this. His friends were not employees nor did he want them to be, and he treated them as equals. More like his students he mentored. The brunet’s sense of organization and leadership followed him and spread through the group like wildfire. No matter how dire the circumstances, Dwight always had a way of stitching everything together and executing a rehearsed and uniform plan. Claudette, Meg, and even Jake trusted him and never second guessed his leadership. For lack of a better phrase, Dwight was the cheerleader of the group. Helping at the drop of a hat even if it risked his own safety, Dwight encouraged unity. The brunet was a firm believer in that old saying that there was “safety in numbers”, and there were no exceptions to that rule.

 

Not even now.


	2. Chapter 2

The campfire was the only source of light in the fog, and the four usual suspects sat in their small groups. Claudette was lecturing an uninterested Meg who stretched her sore muscles. Jake could barely make out what they were saying, but like Meg, he was only half listening anyway. Usually Dwight would catch him eavesdropping and flick him on the ear, but Jake never really cared. He honestly found it cute. Dwight could get so flustered and annoyed with him, and sometimes Jake would go out of his way to piss off the four-eyed geek. Jake was particularly adept at sitting in the shadows and listening to an entire conversation he wasn’t part of, or even intently watching someone going about their business. That was what made him so cat-like. He never made a sound when he was sleuthing about, and if anyone saw him he had a perpetual look of annoyance that dismissed his guilt. Unless it was Dwight. Somehow, the four-eyed leader always had a way of knowing where Jake was. It was impossible to scare Dwight.

 

It wasn’t impossible for Dwight to scare them, though.

 

Speaking of the brunet, he was sitting a good four to five feet away from Jake, which was alarming in and of itself. Normally the two sat shoulder-to-shoulder like sardines packed in a can so Dwight could sleep against him. Their leader always said it was “because he was cold” that he slept next to Jake, who wore the most layers of anyone in the group. Jake didn’t care at all, and more often than not found himself looking down at the sleeping man and counting the subtle rises and falls of his chest. As nervous and panicky as he could get, it was humbling to see Dwight in such a calm state. When he would sleep his face would go flaccid. It was a sign that he was getting the rest he needed; Dwight was always so high strung. Jake knew that if he got too tense then that string would snap, and he hated to think what that could mean. When he feared it would, his hand would find Dwight’s and graze the back of his hand to calm him down. It never failed. A familiar sight like that was what Jake wished he was seeing right now. 

 

Right now, he was looking at Dwight who was sitting two arm’s lengths away, almost curled in on himself. Normally he sat with his elbows on his knees, but was now sitting with arms crossed and toes pointed so he could lean into the fetal position. Dwight hadn’t said much all night which was also concerning. There was always a story being told, anything to lighten the mood, because that was just Dwight’s character. Jake didn’t know how many times he’d heard about Dwight’s cats. He didn’t know how many times he’d heard about how to make the best pizza sauce. He didn’t know how many times he’d heard Dwight scold him for being so careless. All were things Dwight was passionate about and he always spoke with such joy and confidence that it practically oozed out of his ears. Jake wasn’t sure if it was sickening or sweet. What Jake did know was that Dwight cared about the others more than he did himself. And that's why he was worried sick.

 

“Hey, you,” Jake lovingly greeted, cautiously scooting towards Dwight on the log. One gloved hand would come out a few inches, then pull himself toward it. He did this a few times until he was right next to Dwight and straddling the log to look at him properly. His movements were slow, giving Dwight plenty of time to react.

 

The other’s first reaction was to jerk his head and straighten his posture. Jake thought he’d scared the daylight out of his friend, but that lopsided grin signalled he hadn’t. “Oh, hey.” Jake instantly noticed how tense the smile was. Like it was being forced.

 

“What are you doing over here?”

 

“Over here?” Dwight sounded like he had no idea what Jake was talking about. Dwight really pretended he didn’t. To him, he wasn’t acting any differently. Jake was just being his usual nosey self. Coal eyes looked everywhere but at the bushy haired loner. A thin layer of sweat dotted his forehead, and Dwight winced into himself even more. Something was bothering him. His stomach maybe? “I..usually sit here.”

 

At this point, Jake felt a switch flip on inside him. Why the hell was he being so difficult? How the hell did he survive basic human interaction?! Dwight was lying to Jake and it felt like a personal insult. Jake was too wrapped up in concern for his friend to rationally think about why Dwight was so withdrawn. He wanted to lunge at him and slam him with facts that he wasn’t sitting right beside him like he wanted, but Jake wasn’t that shallow. Instead, he settled for a shrug. “You’re right.” Which loosely translated into ‘I know you are lying to me, but I am not in the mood to fight.’ An uncomfortable silence was forming between them. Jake knew Dwight was acting funny. Jake knew Dwight knew he was acting funny. Sigh. Extending a hand and placing it on Dwight’s forearm that was roped around his own waist, Jake cocked his head to the side. Second attempt. “You’re hot.”

 

“What!?” For a brief second, the panicky Dwight was back and neither of the ladies across the way were concerned enough to look over. His physical reaction had been so violent, it was a good thing Jake was holding his arm because he may have fallen off the log. Behind his glasses, wide eyes examined Jake and Dwight swore he was going to feel his heart beat out of his chest.

 

Relieved he could spark something, Jake’s thumb slipped around Dwight’s forearm in an attempt to pull it out. It came out easily, and he could feel the man’s racing heart purely by touch. It was clumsily sweet. “You’re hot.” Narrow eyes traced up the pale arm and all around his friend’s waist. “A fever?”

 

“God,” Dwight finally unfurled with a huff. The arm Jake wasn’t holding ran through his own greasy locks. “You scared me. I thought you meant--”

 

“That, too.” Dwight wondered why it was that Jake said roughly two words a sentence. Before his mouth could press into a thin line, Jake pulled the clammy arm close to his chest and saw exactly what Dwight was hiding. Few things could shake Jake to his core. Dwight was normally a sweaty person, so his arm wasn’t what was concerning. It was the stains of blood pooling around his white shirt. He’d been cut by something just above where his belt sat. Around the edges it was more maroon which indicated it was old, but the bright red spots were still wet to the touch. It was fresh. “Dwight.” Jake’s tone was firm with the slightest hint of fear. He tried his best to swallow it. If Dwight even suspected his cool-cat companion was worried, Dwight would flip out and make Jake look even calmer than he normally was. Claudette and Meg were in their own worlds, and he wanted to keep it that way. “What happened?”

 

“It’s really nothing,” Dwight laughed nervously as he turned to face Jake. A slightly bloody hand waved away the thoughts looming around his wound. The other’s skeptical expression must have been evident because Dwight tugged to get his arm back. It wasn’t that simple. “Seriously. I just got clipped when I went over a window.”

 

Jake was still less than amused. He had all night to wait for a believable answer. “Oh, seriously?”

 

Well, shit. Dwight didn’t think it would really fly, but at least he tried. Jake was a lot more in-tune with his surroundings than he gave him credit for, and that was what pissed Dwight off. More than the sarcastic response. “Look, I patched it up and everything,” he slowly admitted defeat. Now completely facing Jake head-on, Dwight still refused to look at Jake. Today, he’d blame it on the shame. “It is just bleeding through.”

 

“For a guy in glasses, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Jake was already tugging at the bottom of the bloody shirt. He always wore black wool gloves, so touching blood was the least of his concerns. Firmly grasping Dwight’s right arm left only the left one for swatting at him. Dwight’s hits hurt about as much as a pillow and Jake seemed unphased by every single one. When he lifted up the tail of the shirt enough to catch a glimpse of just how bad the damage was, Smack! Dwight had slapped his hand away. 

 

“Can we at least move over there? If Claudette sees this, she’ll freak...” Dwight nudged his head in the direction of a canopy of trees. Jake wasn’t one to resist, so rather than nodding, he rose to his feet. Dwight didn’t expect him to stand up right then and there! “Uh,” his voice shook and finally gained the attention of the two women. Claudette and Meg looked over in tandem. “We are going over there.”

 

The scene was easily misunderstood. Jake and Dwight standing together. Jake firmly holding Dwight’s arm with the other around his waist. Dwight looking more frazzled than normal. Claudette figured they were sneaking away for some boyish antics and just shrugged. They’d been beating around the bush for a while now, so a few minutes alone wasn’t the end of the world. Meg was a little more naively quizzical, staring at Dwight like a dog stared at a juicy steak. She opened her mouth to ask something, but Claudette interrupted by offering to re-braid her hair. Dwight and Jake were dismissed. 

 

The walk to the secluded trees wasn’t very long, but to Dwight it felt like an hour journey. Sitting by the fire, he hadn’t noticed just how cold it could get out here. The only part of him that was warm was his arm….the one Jake was holding. The rest of his body was shaking in a desperate attempt to warm itself up. The air was cold, just above freezing, but Dwight could have sworn it was ten below with how awful he felt. The wound hadn’t been bugging him for very long but now that he was standing, the pain radiated clear through his back and up his spine. It almost rendered him unable to walk, but Jake occasionally stole a glance downward. Not long after he stumbled on his own feet, a warm arm snaked around his waist and hoisted him back to his feet. Dwight hadn’t realized he was lagging behind or even staggering. The heat from the blood pooling around his abdomen was a stinging and stabbing kind of pain, like there was still a blade twisting and turning inside. The irritated skin around it was a raw pink and could crack like an egg at any moment. The chapped and cracked skin was a completely separate pain from the initial wound and it didn’t make either of them feel better. Such a thing lead to infection...which his fever already confirmed.

 

Dwight focused his other arm on applying pressure to the wound--something Claudette had taught him. All thoughts were focused not on Jake, but just how low Dwight felt lying to the one man he genuinely felt close to. The two had found their way to a small seclusion of trees where they could barely see the campfire in the distance. Jake attempted to tame his frizzy mop before ushering Dwight to now sit on the ground. It was colder than the air and fog together! Dwight was sure his ass was going to freeze right to the dried mud.

 

But if it froze, maybe Jake’s hold on his arm would, too.


	3. Chapter 3

The time between leaving the campfire and sitting where he was now felt like an eternity to Dwight. He knew the pain in his abdomen was to blame, and it only seemed longer and longer as they had walked here. Jake hadn’t let Dwight slow down or even lag behind him, almost acting like it was a chore to keep him at his side. The pain was radiating because of that. Dwight had pushed himself to keep pace with Jake, scared that he was annoying the other. That wasn’t the case and Dwight rationally knew that. Jake just wasn’t the best at showing emotions. His concern was a bit brash, arguably, but Dwight knew Jake was only tugging him as fast as he was so they could be alone.

 

Jake was on his knees next to Dwight, who was sitting in the dried mud. The ex-pizza boy was sure his butt was frozen, the only place that wasn’t was his wound. It was hot to the touch and practically boiling. A feeling of embarrassment was nipping at Dwight’s sweat-drizzled neck, and it worsened when he acknowledged the feeling. It was hard for him to describe.

 

It was even harder for him to apologize. 

 

“Lift that up.”

 

Dwight obeyed Jake’s words with great caution. Every fiber of his body hurt. Every muscle was on fire. It was rare for Dwight to complain, but dammit if he wasn’t close! The bottom of his shirt was no longer white and it was colored by a mixture of blood and dirt. When he grabbed the fabric so as to give Jake a better look, it was a wet sponge. The fabric squished between his fingers with an unholy sound and Dwight physically gagged. It was wet with blood and sweat, and reminded him of the times wet food stuck to his fingers when he’d wash dishes. Dwight was chilled straight through his spine with disgust. Somehow he managed to move the soggy fabric, settling for unbuttoning the bottom with Jake’s help.

 

“That doesn’t look so bad,” Jake sighed. Dwight picked up on this relief and immediately relaxed against the tree. “It does look like it hurt pretty good.” The wound wasn’t a full “gash” by Jake’s expertise, but it definitely wasn’t just a scratch. The bleeding wasn’t profuse, though it was almost constant. What made it look like a butchery was the smeared blood that covered almost all of Dwight’s lower quadrant. Once it got cleaned up a bit, Jake was sure it wouldn’t be as bad as it initially seemed. A majority of the problem was how long it had been left unattended thanks to Dwight’s hiding it. Had the man swallowed his pride, Jake could have probably helped the swelling and inflammation! 

 

Dwight’s forced laugh thinned the air. “It didn’t feel good.”

 

“This probably won’t, either.”

 

Jake hit the nail on the head. Gloved fingers lightly grazed the area around the wound, and Dwight recoiled against the tree with a hiss.There was a loud thump! of his head hitting against the trunk. Jake looked up for a split second, but immediately went back to looking at the wound. He shifted his weight between his legs and adjusted to sit on them a little more comfortably to lean in close for a better look.

 

It was painfully awkward for Dwight. Jake was poking this and pushing that on Dwight’s exposed abdomen, and his head was practically in Dwight’s lap! Blowing out a breath, the group’s leader wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding it. It wasn’t short enough that he wasn’t lightheaded, but it was long enough for Jake to say something. 

 

“Don’t do that.” When those narrow eyes raised to pierce straight through his friend, Dwight felt as though he’d blackout. He kind of wished he would. Anything to escape this situation. “Well,” Jake finally reeled up and placed his hands on his own hips. “I think once we get this cleaned up you’ll be just fine. And Claudette will never know.”

 

“Really, Doctor Jake?” Dwight wrinkled his nose to push his glasses up. Dwight was worried about his wound, but more than that: about Claudette finding out about his wound. Anything he knew about a bandage or antiseptic agents came from the botanical protege, and she would surely wring his neck if she found out he’d hidden this from her.

 

“At least I hope.” It was clear Jake was just poking fun at the other, but he figured it wouldn’t land with how much he’d been poking his sore injury. He began to remove his gloves and handed them to Dwight, who gave him a quizzical look Jake had seen numerous times before. He watched Dwight hold the black gloves, half expecting him to chew his ear off about how dingy they had become. When he didn’t, Jake was slightly taken aback. Dwight didn’t even look at him until Jake stuck his thumb in his mouth and pulled it away with a loud, childish pop!.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Ah. That sweet voice laced with neurotically induced stress. It was music to Jake’s ears, and he actually smiled at Dwight. Jake’s smile was extremely rare, so Dwight made sure to savor every moment of it. Jake’s smile was the kind that pushed his cheeks up to his eyes and narrowed them even more. It almost looked like they were closed from the angle he was at, and Dwight could have sworn he even saw a few brown freckles on the other’s square cheeks. Jake’s smile was always cocky and oozed with misplaced confidence. Even if Jake was up to no good with a trail of saliva still connecting his thumb and lip, Dwight skeptically smiled back. At least until Jake moved closer.

 

“No.”

 

Jake said nothing.

 

“No. Seriously!! That’s disgusting--! Jake!”

 

Dwight’s protests fell on deaf ears as Jake placed his wet thumb to the area surrounding the wound and began to scrub. Dwight’s shrills were loud enough to draw the attention of Meg (but not Claudette, strangely) from the small distance between them. Jake’s thumb was cool and it was relief to his irritated skin, but the most unsanitary thing he could think of. Hell, Jake might as well just spit on it! He bit his lip so as to not give the brat any ideas.

 

“It’s not like we have a lot of options, four-eyes.” Jake’s smile wiped away as Dwight began to flail about, sparing no qualms if he hit Jake. It was a sight to see. Jake expertly wove between the fists, wiping his thumb on his pant leg before returning it for a fresh coat of spit. It was probably a good thing Dwight hadn’t gotten Claudette’s attention, because they’d both be hounded. Dwight for being so damn loud, and Jake for being so damn “unsanitary”. “I am almost done. Will you just stop?”

Dwight hated to admit two things. One was that Jake was right. The other was that Jake was right again. Yes, their options were extremely limited, but that did not mean they needed to risk a worse infection by using mom-spit! Dwight’s skin began to crawl at the thought of just where Jake’s mouth had been. He didn’t mean it as harsh as it had sounded, but Dwight wasn’t even sure he knew the other’s last name! What if Jake had a cold?! What if Jake got sick from this?! At this point, Dwight was too defeated. Whatever happened….happened. It wasn’t like their perpetual purgatory could actually get worse.

 

In a smooth motion from gauze he had in his pocket, Jake wrapped it around the area and admired his half-assed work.“See? Look at that.” Jake waved away the last few fists that were too tired to hit their target. The blood had been cleaned up and all that remained was a relatively small laceration a few inches deep at most. Jake wouldn’t say it looked good, but it looked much better. His tanned hands rested on each of Dwight’s hips and both of them half-smiled at the contact. “You might wanna lay of the pizzas if I am going to have enough bandages next time.”

 

Dwight’s glasses were slightly crooked from his reactionary thrashing so he adjusted them. “Was that really necessary?”

 

Fingers curled around the narrow hips and grazed the area around his sides. “Y’know, most people just say ‘thank you’.”

 

There was that smile again. This time Jake was actually looking at him and Dwight felt a lump form in his throat. Somehow it was more charming than it was before, and he grinned in return. The air that had once been so cold was now stale and crisp. He wasn’t shivering anymore, at least not from the cold. Jake’s smile was trained on him and Dwight was beginning to count how many times he blinked.

 

Zero. Jake wasn’t blinking. What the fuck? He was just staring at him! Staring at him with that callow, lopsided, no-good, mom-spit, suave smirk. Jake’s hands hadn’t moved from engulfing his sides. In such large and squared hands, Dwight felt more safe than he had ever been since waking up in this godforsaken place. The hold was firm and warm like it had been on his arm, with the smallest of grazes. This was arguably more intimate, as it wasn’t exactly unwelcome to the panicky pizzaboy. At times, he could feel his heart beat against his ribcage. Dwight was desperate to get out of this, despite resting his hands on Jake’s and slipping his fingers between the other’s. Dwight looked right. Trees. Dwight looked up. Trees. Dwight looked left. Meg.

“What is she doing?” Dwight hiccuped. Finally, Jake’s gaze broke and he jumped as though someone clanged a pot next to his head.

 

Meg was about fifty feet away, standing behind a tree with just one eye poking around. Had neither of them seen the orange flyaways from her braids, the two would have panicked a wolf was watching them. She was far from subtle. Her expression was similar to Dwight’s, and he felt like he was looking in a mirror. Her pale brown eyes were wide with anticipation, mouth a thin “o” shape, and her weight was on the balls of her feet so she could flee at the first signs of trouble. Which she did when Jake noticed her. 

 

“What’s her problem?” Dwight laughed inwardly. “Are they worried about us, you think?”

 

“I don’t know.” Jake looked back to Dwight. His weight was still supported by his palms on Dwight’s hips, and it looked like he was pinning the other against the tree. Dwight measured the space between them by leaning forward, and found he could leave if he really wanted to. But he didn’t. “She probably thought I was going to kiss you or something.”

 

Whatever this smarmy attitude was tugged a third smile from Dwight. Jake wasn’t usually this suave. What gives? “Why would you do that?” His cheeks flushed a warm pink. Shit. Shit. What was this, high school? Why the hell was he blushing?! Blushing!!

 

A tanned finger came up to Dwight’s nose to push his glasses back up to their proper position, then returned back to his hip. “I don’t know. Maybe I have a thing for bossy basket cases.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Bossy?!” Dwight sounded honestly offended at Jake’s description. His brows furrowed behind the thick glasses. Maybe Dwight had a tendency to tell others what to do, but bossy? That wasn’t Dwight at all. There was a difference between a boss and a leader. A boss was the kind of person who micromanaged every decision. A boss never encouraged or praised those under their watch. A leader was the exact opposite! A leader encouraged others. A leader worked with everyone towards a common goal. Dwight wasn’t bossy. He was a middle-aged, hard-working, “There’s No ‘I’ in Team”, leader! Jake must have just been being a jerk. He always had a way of ruffling Dwight’s feathers for the hell of it, and never ceased to amaze the other with a new way to do just that.

 

Dwight’s feathers were always ruffled, but now they were being plucked out one by one.

 

In Dwight’s internal monologue, Jake picked up on his cage being rattled. It was obvious that Dwight was slipping into an episode of working himself up into some fantasy he would lose sleep thinking about, so Jake decided to act. It was a small controversy in his mind but he wasn’t convinced to not take the chance. While Dwight seemed to be miles away mentally preparing himself to chew out Jake, the crafty saboteur leaned in and timidly placed his lips against Dwight’s.

 

Per usual, Jake was the composed one. For a moment, he thought Dwight would be angry judging by how stiff he went against the tree. The geek had always been a reactionary person in Jake’s eyes, so it was a pleasant surprise he didn’t get slapped or pushed away like earlier. His eyes quickly and gingerly fluttered shut. Dwight still had Jake’s gloves clenched in his fist, so Jake’s bare and calloused hand parted with the narrow hip to lie firmly against the small of his friend’s back. Dwight’s back was as sweaty as it always was, and this made Jake smile into the kiss. In a strange way, it was endearing.

 

Dwight’s lips were thin like a piece of paper. What little facial hair he had poked Jake like little black splinters, though his own beard was thick enough to not be annoyed by the little pricks. What actually annoyed Jake was the chapped texture of their current bond. Dwight’s lips weren’t chapped because it was cold out. They were rugged and torn because it was habit. When the four-eyes was in deep thought, Jake had observed he’d chew his nails. Sometimes it was his lip. More often than not it was his nails. Nervous, scared, tired...Dwight bit. His nail beds were probably shit, though Jake hardly ever saw it behind those fingerless gloves a size too big for him. But the disheveled feeling wasn’t something Jake particularly cared about.

 

Dwight, on the other hand, was a sweaty mess.

 

He responded immediately, surprising himself. A hand timidly reached out and rested on the cotton scarf the other wore, and his fingers instinctively wrapped around it. Dwight was a shivering mess as his nerves began to take over. They both were on the ground and making the mud below them melt. Dwight sat against the tree with his bandages still exposed, and Jake was in an almost crawling position with half his weight supported on his palms. Once Dwight’s vision had clouded over, it adjusted to the dim moonlight. It made him self conscious that Jake hadn’t pulled away yet. Like Meg and even Claudette, Dwight had long admired Jake’s messy bad-boy looks. His tanned skin and caramel eyes, the drizzle of chocolate freckles across his nose and cheeks, and charcoal black hair were to die for. But being this close to him, kissing him, Dwight couldn’t help but notice for the first time just how toned Jake was. Those shoulders were wide, making him look like a brick. Under the green hoodie, Dwight could only imagine what lied beneath. He let his gaze trace down the forest-green jacket he’d seen a million times before, but it somehow looked brand-new today.

 

Jake spoke, slapping Dwight to herd his thoughts. “Uh,” Oh god. What had he done wrong? “Dwight?”

 

Dwight blinked dozen times in the second before Jake spoke again.

 

“Were your eyes open that whole time?”

 

Dwight immediately starting stumbling over his words, weak like a leaf in a storm. “No! Th-they were closed! I mean, maybe for a second or two, but no, I--,”

 

“You talk a lot.”

 

“What?”

 

Dwight seemed to say that to Jake a lot. Asking “What?” after just about everything the man said. Were his words that complex? Was his English sub-par? Or was Dwight just a spazz?

 

“I’m just..not very good at that, okay?”

 

A light exploded in Jake’s head. Like ducks fell in a row, all of Jake’s eggs were in his basket and he knew just what the problem was. It wasn’t that Dwight kept his eyes open while Jake kissed him. It was that… “You haven’t kissed anyone before, have you?” Jake spoke very cautiously and calmly, fighting his hardest to avoid so much as smiling. He didn’t find it funny necessarily. It was just so very Dwight.

 

Black eyebrows curled, wrinkling his forehead with a look Jake initially winced away from. “I have!” Dwight lied. Pressed against the tree enough that it would leave imprints all over his back, Dwight wished nothing more than for lightning to strike him down now. Why today of all days did it chose to not rain? “I mean..” His face flushed a violent red like he’d just been chased all around a field and was close to fainting. “Not like that.”

 

Whatever Dwight was trying to sell here, Jake wasn’t buying it. Hell, it wasn’t even on clearance. Normally Jake would take this juicy piece of information and run miles with it, dragging Dwight through the mud to Meg and Claudette. Something in him wasn’t even thinking about that right now. Still only inches away from the basket-case, Jake’s normally cold expression melted like ice cream. “Wait,” his eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?” It turned sympathetic.

 

Dwight said nothing. He didn’t even exhale tiredly like he normally did. Instead, he sank into the tree like he wished it could take him to second dimension. His head was turned so his chin touched his left shoulder, gazing at the campfire in the distance. Dwight was embarrassingly inexperienced when it came to his love-life. Dwight had kissed two girls in his entire life, and he had been the butt of both jokes. The two he’d known weren’t even lip-kisses. They were cheek and forehead ones, which solidified his constant anxiety towards making new friends. The two kisses Dwight knew were from girls who were dared to by their friends. Subconsciously, Dwight assumed this third one to be, too. “Did Meg put you up to this?” Dwight’s voice cracked like a fragile piece of glass, but was firm and demanding. He was hurt. He was actually believing his own fantasy. Jake could have sworn he saw a light mist cross his eyes. Never had anyone seen him so tuned-out. So vulnerable. Sure there were times when Dwight was glassy when someone had to be left behind, misty-eyed when one was close to losing the last bit of blood in them, but never had he seemed to vacant. So dead. His mouth was pressed into a thin line and curled in enough for him to chew the top sliver of skin away in worry. “What? You aren’t going to have some smartass remark? Just go ahead and do it, Jake.”

 

Jake needed to do something, and do it quick. “Hey, hey.” Jake shimmied out of the spot he’d fancied between Dwight’s legs and chose to sit against the tree with him. “Meg?” The spike in his voice made Dwight wince. What was that supposed to mean? Now next to him, Jake placed a clammy hand to Dwight’s chin and made him look at him. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I figured you wanted to, too. It just felt kind of...right, y’know?” His head hung low to his chest and if Jake had a tail, it would be between his legs.

 

Those were the most words Dwight had ever heard Jake say at one time. Maybe he wasn’t the best with apologies, but as he looked at the light-brown eyes that were narrowed in perpetual annoyance, Dwight knew his friend was trying. Thin lips formed a microscopic llopsided smile and he wrinkled his nose to adjust his glasses. Through the pain radiating under the bandages and the sweat dripping from every part of his body, Dwight managed a smirk. “If I didn’t want you to, I would have said something, Jake.” The hand around his chin came down. “I am able to tell the prestigious Jake Long, ‘No’, you know.”

 

A long pause.

 

“What?” Dwight’s famous line was asked again.

 

“My last name isn’t ‘Long’.”

 

“Then what is it?” It wasn’t until now that Dwight realized just how little they knew each other.

 

The hand that had been around Dwight’s chin slipped between the two of them and found Dwight’s hand. It was calloused like his own, and clammy like it, too. Jake’s hand practically swallowed Dwight’s whole, and he wasted no time weaving their fingers together like the stitches the leader desperately needed on his stomach. Jake raised his head to rest it against the tree. Looking through the canopy of leaves, Dwight could see the fine details of his face. Just as charming as always. “You’ll have to beat it out of me, Fairfield.” Jake flashed a toothy grin at Dwight, who only rolled his eyes at the other’s next words. “Or kiss it out of me. Whichever is easier.”


End file.
